


Moving On, Or: The Aftermath of the War

by Caticorn2003



Category: Macbeth - Shakespeare
Genre: And it's adorable, Fluff, M/M, The Grieving Process, also g a y, they are each other's comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 11:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21270455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caticorn2003/pseuds/Caticorn2003
Summary: The traitor Macbeth is dead, and Malcolm now sits on the Scottish throne. But killing Macbeth didn't undo any of the things he did, and Malcolm is still mourning the death of his father, King Duncan. Macduff, too, is grieving the loss of his wife and children. Luckily, they're there to support each other and bond over their shared losses.Also, they're super gay for each other.Takes place a few months after the play ends.





	Moving On, Or: The Aftermath of the War

A knock at the door of the throne room jerked Malcolm out of his stupor.

“Yes?”

The door creaked open, and a page walked in and bowed. “Your Honour, a letter from King Edward for you.” The page presented Malcolm with a scroll, sealed with wax, stamped with the King’s seal and tied with a crimson ribbon.

“Thank you.” Malcolm waited until the page had bowed once more and exited the room, then tossed the scroll aside and buried his face in his hands.

How could he ever live up to his father’s legacy? The tyrant Macbeth was dead, order was restored, and seemingly all was well again, but the fact remained that his father Duncan, the former king, was still dead, and Malcolm missed him terribly.

Yet another knock sounded at the throne room door, and Malcolm groaned and rubbed a hand over his eyes furiously. “Come in!”

To his relief, the face that poked around the heavy oak door was not that of another tiresome servant or guard, but rather exactly the face Malcolm most needed to see. Managing a smile for the first time that day, he stumbled across the floor and into Macduff’s embrace. The other man rubbed his back soothingly.

They broke apart after a few seconds, and Macduff clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. “Rough day?”

“Tell me about it.” Malcolm rubbed his eyes again.

Macduff slung a heavy arm around Malcolm’s shoulders and guided him to the throne. Malcolm sat down on it, and Macduff pulled up a stool. The height difference in the seats placed Macduff several feet beneath Malcolm, but the other man didn’t seem to care. “Wanna talk?”

Malcolm’s nose prickled, and he leaned his chin on his hand and stared into the distance, blinking away tears. He wished he could talk, but he wasn’t sure he trusted his mouth to form words without breaking down completely. The truth as, today wasn’t any worse than a normal day. He wasn’t sure if that made the whole thing better or worse.

“Hang on. I can hardly see you from here.” Macduff stood up and pushed his stool away, making a horrible screeching sound on the stone floor, and hopped up onto Malcolm’s throne. “This is roomy enough for two. Scooch.”

Malcolm realized too late that he hadn’t moved his hand from the arm of the throne in time, so now his arm was around Macduff, who was pressed tightly against him. Oh well. He was beyond the point of caring.

Macduff turned to him, brown eyes overflowing with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Those two words, filled with so much love and concern, were the last straw for Malcolm. One tear was quickly followed by another, and Macduff pulled Malcolm close to him as he sobbed into his shoulder.

When they finally pulled apart, Malcolm was shocked to see Macduff’s eyes shiny with tears. But the other man blinked them back as he reached out and brushed a stray tear from Malcolm’s own cheek. The tender gesture almost made Malcolm start crying afresh, but he held himself together. He’d cried enough today. With a start, he realized how close they were; their noses were practically touching.

The crash of the throne room door hitting the wall broke the silence, and both men started and turned to see two servants staring back at them, pale-faced and wide-eyed. “Your Honour?”

Macduff hopped down from the throne, did an overly dramatic bow, and left with a flourish, leaving Malcolm to deal with the next round of inquiries.

A soft knock sounded at Malcolm’s door just as he was undressing for bed that night. Rapidly pulling his dressing gown over his head, he called, “Come in!”

Macduff pushed the door open, balancing a tray with a candle and a cup of tea in one hand and clad in a cream-coloured nightgown and matching nightcap. “How’s it going? I thought you might like a cup of tea.”

Malcolm accepted the steaming cup gratefully. He was expecting Macduff to take a seat in one of the armchairs by the fire, but instead the man came and sat down on the four-poster bed next to Malcolm. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay.” Malcolm managed a wan smile. “How about you?”

Macduff sighed and stared into the fire. “I’ve had better days.”

Malcolm put the tea down and placed a hand on Macduff’s back. “You must miss them horribly.”

“. . . Yeah.” Macduff rested his chin on his hand. “At least I got my revenge on Macbeth in the end. But all the revenge in the world won’t bring my family back.” Malcolm put his arm all the way around Macduff’s shoulders as the man went on, “I just feel like I should have done more, you know? If I hadn’t fled to England to meet you, I would have been there for my family. I should have been there to protect them from Macbeth’s assassins. That’s what my duty is as a husband and father.” His lower lip trembled, and Malcolm tightened his grip. “Maybe if I’d done more, my family would still be alive.” His voice broke on the last word, and he seemed unable to say more.

“You did everything you could,” Malcolm said after a pause. “If you hadn’t come to England, we would never have been able to defeat Macbeth, and who knows how much destruction he would have caused then?”  _ It was a noble sacrifice for a greater good, _ he wanted to say, but bit back the words just in time. Macduff didn’t need to hear that right now. Besides, he wasn’t sure the brutal murder of an innocent family counted as a “noble sacrifice” in anyone’s book.

Macduff sniffled. “I just, I just wish it – it – it was me” – he took a shaky breath – “me instead of th-th-them.” He leaned his head on Malcolm’s shoulder; Malcolm could feel his back shaking.

“I know,” Malcolm whispered. “I know. It’s okay.”

They sat in silence for a long time, as Macduff’s breathing gradually slowed and became more even. The tea Macduff had brought was surely stone cold by now, and his arm had long since gone numb, but Malcolm didn’t care.

Macduff raised his head from Malcolm’s shoulder and turned to face him, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The pair sat in contemplative silence for a bit, then Macduff spoke suddenly. “You know . . . I think she’d want me to move on.”

Macduff’s words made Malcolm snap his head to the right to look at him, blood suddenly rushing to his cheeks. Could Macduff possibly be saying what Malcolm thought he was saying?

Macduff went on, not meeting Malcolm’s eyes. “It’s been a few months, and what’s done is done. I think she’d want me to stop living in the past. And maybe . . . to find someone new.”

Was it his imagination, or was Macduff . . .  _ blushing? _ With his dark skin, Malcolm couldn’t tell. The man certainly looked embarrassed, and he still wouldn’t look at Malcolm. Malcolm swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Did you have anyone in mind?”

Macduff finally looked up to meet Malcolm’s eyes, a sheepish grin playing across his face. “Well . . . maybe.”

“Is that so?” Everything else in the room had faded from Malcolm’s mind; the only thing he could focus on was Macduff’s face, which was moving nearer and nearer to his own. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Was that actually happening?

The corner of Macduff’s mouth twitched ever so slightly, and he reached out to cup Malcolm’s face in his hand. His fingers were warm on Malcolm’s cheek, and he was so close that Malcolm could feel his breath as he spoke. “Yeah, I think it is.”

Was it Malcolm or Macduff who bridged the final gap between their lips in the end? Malcolm didn’t know, and didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that they were kissing. And when they finally pulled apart, Malcolm was the happiest he’d felt in months.


End file.
